Liam came home just after seven, the familiar sound of his key scraping gently into the lock. Evelyn was in the kitchen, stirring a pot she had already turned off minutes ago—a nervous habit. She heard the door, heard his soft exhale like he was putting the whole day down at the threshold.
Ethan was on the couch, one leg stretched out, flipping through channels with an absent mind. He looked tired too, though in a different way—restless energy running under his skin, like he’d been pacing mentally all day.
Evelyn wiped her palms on her apron before she even realized she was doing it.
Liam stepped in, loosened his tie, and smiled the way he always did when he saw her. Warm. Familiar. Safe.
“Smells good,” he murmured, leaning in to press a quick kiss to her cheek.
It should have made he
